Seduction

"Azrael is beside you and he's playing the game,
Demons are inside you and they're making their play,
Watching and they're hiding as they wait for the time
For a devil to get ready and take over your mind."

            -"The Fallen Angel," Iron Maiden

            Psymon felt the demon beside him, felt its hot and stinking breath, its cool death grip upon his arm, the claws scourging his skin, tearing the sensitive skin on his under right forearm to shreds, again. But for once, the demon instilled no fear in his brain. Perhaps he was getting used to the damn thing's horrifying presence, or maybe Psymon was becoming more demonic himself in his ventures.

            He hadn't been on the slopes in two weeks, Rahzel and the team physical therapist (who had minored in psychology) weren't permitting him into competition. Psymon was just along for the ride now. And the demon gleefully couldn't keep himself from reminding Psymon every waking moment of every day. As he turned to look at the beast, Psymon found himself grinning manically, couldn't control his sudden feeling of freedom. He didn't feel a weight upon his chest as he had for the past six months, felt completely at ease, crazily grinning at this demon who had tried to take his soul.

            This is what happens when you cooperate, Psymon, the demon informed him silently. Psymon nodded, feeling a bit elated. He tried to stand up, but the demon held him down to the edge of the bed on which he sat. No. You just stick by me, Psymon, and nothing will happen to you. Psymon vaguely remembered someone from his past saying those words, someone who was tall and dark and had a rough, gravelly voice. He nearly recognized it, but couldn't place his finger on the name; felt as though he had met the person before, yet hadn't ever known fully who he or she was.

You and only god would know what could be done
You and only god will know I am the only one
You and only god would know what could be done
You and only god will know I am the chosen one

            Psymon turned to the demon once more, and saw a red glint in the ugly beast's eyes, a glint of bloodlust, a glint of hunger for human flesh and bone. The earlier feeling of euphoria was gone, the freedom was once again dead and he was tied down, strained and enslaved by the gruesome creature. I'm coming in now, Psymon. He didn't know where the beast was going, but its tone of glee was not making him feel secure about the decision. For good. The two words, uttered in a voice so menacing they made shivers run down Psymon's spine, spelled out all of his worst fears. The beast was going to infest his mind, his soul, it was going to share his body, take over his life. He was the chosen one.


Could it be it's the end of our world?
All the things that we cherish and love
Nothing left but to face this all on my own
Cause I am the chosen one.

            Alexia heard the song playing in her head as she walked down the Vancouver street to the all-night bar she liked to frequent. Quite close to Stark's Bikes, Alexia knew that if Psymon ever came to visit his shop, there was a good chance he'd see her there. It was a little place, a hole-in-the-wall, really; on a sub-level half underground. As she slowly stepped down the cement stairs to the steel door of the pub, she began humming aloud, mouthing the words to herself and smiling. Walking in, Alexia paused to let her eyes adjust to the darkened setting, illuminated solely by neon signs hanging on the wall behind the bar counter.

            "Hey, Lex," said the bartender. The kid was maybe around Alexia's age, possibly a year or two younger. "The usual?" Mutely, she nodded, sinking onto a stool and looking around at the other bar occupants. It was the usual Wednesday night crowd, a few old drunks and many more women out to sell themselves for a little cash. The people around Alexia were beginning to blur a bit, but not from drunkenness; she hadn't touched alcohol all day. The neon signs were too bright… All Alexia could hear was one long, drawn out shriek roaring in her ears. Blood-curdling, painful, chilling… Then there was blackness.


Could it be it's the end of our world?
All the things that we cherish and love
Nothing left but to face this all on my own
Cause I am the chosen one

            The house was silent, the room pitch black, but eight-year-old Simon was sitting up in his bed, frightened to his wit's end. Something hand woken him up. It was going to be his birthday the next day, and his mom was baking a cake, and her boyfriend of the week, John, was going to be bringing him a present. Mom hadn't let him invite over Evan for some reason, but he thought that it might have had to do with the long shouting match she had had with John earlier in the week. Simon had heard Evan's name more than once, and the slap of flesh meeting flesh. Mom had a new bruise on her cheek the next day, she said it was from falling in the shower, but Simon knew better.

            Simon looked out the window, and saw nothing. He looked towards his door, and saw nothing. He looked immediately to the left, and saw nothing, then to the right. Still nothing. But then he felt it. The bed had shifted, as though someone had sat down upon it. But Simon saw nothing… his breath began getting heavier and heavier, more rapid with each second, his fear increasing tenfold.

            "W-who's there?" Simon stammered, shutting his eyes to block out the fear. There was no reply. He asked again, but still no reply… but then the bed shifted again as though the… thing had gotten up. Simon sighed a sigh of relief. It was nothing. A ghost, Simon told himself silently. Absolutely nothing. But he had thought too soon… for the bed shifted yet again. This time, the new dip in the mattress was closer, near his right side… And then he felt it. Hot breath close on his cheek, stinking of alcohol and cigarettes, a deathly disgusting blend that permeated his nostrils and clung to his skin. Simon opened his eyes slowly, just a crack… the moon had come out and was shining through his window, illuminating the room and everything in it with a sickly white glow.

            Sitting next to him on the bed was John, his wild and greasy black hair out of its pony tail and sticking out all over the place. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and his pants were unbuttoned and unzipped, a dangerous mix. Simon let his eyes open completely, and met John's beady dark ones, as the man towered over him, lounging on his twin bed with the threadbare flannel sailboat sheets and thin motorcycle comforter. The young boy watched John get up and close the curtains on his window, sending the room into pitch black darkness yet again.

            Simon knew he'd never be the same.


Beaten fallen angel but I've risen again
And the power is inside me, I've decided to pray
As I wait for Armageddon and it's coming my way
It's an honor to be chosen and I wait for the day

            He woke up to the sun shining brightly through the window, the curtains once again drawn back. There were new cotton sheets on his bed, cool to the touch, swathing him in a cocoon of comfort. Gone too, was the motorcycle comforter, and in place of it was a new fleece one, just a plain dark gray. Simon sat up in his bed slowly… it hurt to breathe and he fell back softly, gasping with pain. His whole body ached from head to toe, his back and chest especially. Looking down upon his own naked torso, Simon saw lines of bruises striping his chest, dark purple and green and blue blooming on his skin, painful to the touch. Mixed in were also long scratches, from John's unkempt hangnails, Simon supposed.

            The door to his bedroom slowly opened, and Simon shrank back in fear, praying that it was not John. It wasn't; his mother entered the room, her long blonde hair radiant in the sunlight that caught it. She was a beautiful woman, his mother. Tall, willowy thin, with a toned body and tanned skin; Her large eyes were the same crystal blue as Simon's, her petite nose turning up slightly at the end. Rosy lips, glowing skin, a spatter of freckles on her cheeks… Long, fluid limbs, graceful manner, soft hands, sweet voice. She was wearing a sundress, short and sweet with red cherries printed on a white background and red heels, her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail exposing her neck and dainty ears. It was easy to see why John had picked her.

            "Simon, sweetie, are you awake?" she called, her voice slightly slurred, even at eleven in the morning.

            "Yeah, Mom," he replied, sitting up. His mother walked over, and sat on the edge of the bed. Simon looked her in the face, and realized she was completely drunk. "Mom… about what John did…"

            She sighed loudly, flopping back on the bed, her hair fanning out around her head. "It wasn't anything bad, sweetheart," she reassured him. "John just has needs that I can't satisfy." Simon had no clue what she was talking about, she was talking in riddles. "Don't you like the new sheets I picked out? I figured you could use some new ones."

            "Sure, Mom," Simon replied, realizing that he would never get a straight answer out of her. But he could resist trying one last time. "But Mom, John--"

            His mother sat up quickly, and snapped, "Don't worry about it, Simon. It was nothing. He did nothing wrong." No one in the household would ever speak of the event again. But night fell once more, and the terror didn't disappear… the breath became more harsh and the stench even worse… the pain was more excruciating… the daytime became Simon's refuge.


***

            The demon was still sitting by Psymon's side, clawing his arm. He wanted to go further. Psymon turned to the fiend, and looked into its red-hot eyes, saw the excitement, the thrill it felt. How could this demon still be plaguing him, so many years later? How had it followed? What was it after? Suddenly, the demon's claws stopped slashing into his skin; its head perked up, it sniffed the air. Apprehensively, Psymon watched as the thing jumped to its feet, and began stalking towards the door. Letting out a collective sigh of relief, he flopped back on the bed, glad to have averted his sentence. Oh, Psymon, the demon told him gleefully.

            Don't think for a minute that I won't be back for you… I will be. Psymon groaned, listening to the demon's raspy voice. The disgusting sound had grown on him, made him feel a bit softer inside, made some of his fright disappear. He was getting used to the thing. It was his captor, the one that kept his emotions caged inside, the one that kept Alexia out in the dark. Psymon figured it was better off that way; Alexia couldn't get hurt if she were on the outside of the bars.

You and only god would know what could be done
You and only god will know I am the only one
You and only god would know what could be done
You and only god will know that I am the chosen one
 

            The door opened, and the beast left, but not without his parting words. I'll be back for you, Psymon. The raspy voice had become soft in Psymon's mind, the odorous breath sweet. Its claws were the soft, well-manicured hands of a young woman, and its red eyes were no longer like hot coals; instead, they were cool sapphires in a pale face, with blonde hair pulled back into a long ponytail under a white cap. Psymon blinked once, then again, before realizing that his demon had transformed into the nurse standing before him. She was a beauty, and he appreciated the way her dress, usually nondescript and boring on nurses, was formfitting and tight. The woman turned away from Psymon a second, to a small table by his bed. He closed his eyes again, figuring she was going to turn off the light and leave.

Ping. Ping. It was the sound of a hypodermic needle being prepped, yet Psymon didn't hear it. Pop. The plastic cap came off; and Psymon started as he felt the needle being shoved near violently into his arm. The nurse cursed lightly, realizing she had missed his vein, and Psymon winced as she roughly pulled out the needle and tried again. This time she hit the spot, and the fluid flowed into Psymon bloodstream, depositing itself all over his body in a matter of minutes. The nurse sat and watched him for a second, to make sure the drug was taking the appropriate affect. As she watched him begin to nod off into a dreamless oblivion, for a few hours of peaceful demon-less sleep, she spoke to him in a soft undertone, the last thing he heard before he was out.


Could it be it's the end of my world?
All the things that we cherish and love
Nothing left but to face all this on my own
Cause I am the chosen one

 "I'll leave the light on for you, Psymon."

And then she was gone, and again he was all alone.

Psymon found himself missing the demon. Sure, it was the cause of his terror.

But its presence was seductive.

It felt good to not be alone.